We Cope
by ZAHarrow
Summary: Based off of a request to imagine-loki. Hercules AU, p much. Loki slips up one too many times and is banished to Midgard to learn a thing or two. His enemies lurk in the background, lying in wait to find a way to destroy the prince. While on Midgard he meets a mortal woman who he can't help but fall in love with. That's when his enemies find his weakness and set out to destroy.
1. Chapter 1

**The currency in this AU is strictly silver-based and goes like this: 1 penin = 1 silver piece, a square-shaped coin; 1 eyrir = 10 penin, a round coin; 1 mark = 10 eyrir, a triangular coin. Those are the coins that the people use. The next level of the currency doesn't have actual coins to go with the titles, the titles rather refer to clusters of coins. 1 gloe = 30 marks, a, "log," so to say of money, earned its name because most people would come delivering these payments in penins or eyrirs carried in wooden boxes, since the common man doesn't own very many marks; 1 poque = 70 gloe, equivalent to a thousand dollars, is a bag of money. A loaf of bread would cost around 5 eyrirs, a good chunk of meat about 5 marks, an article of clothing from 10-20 mark, housing ranging from 5,000 to 50,000 poque - depending on home quality. Most items cost 5 eyrir and above. Cheap items starting prices would be 3 eyrir to 4 mark. The average items from 5-19 marks. Fine items from 20 marks to any number of gloe. A truly expensive item is at the least 1 poque. Services such as a seamstress sewing an article of clothing is anywhere from 5-8 eyrirs to 20 marks. The success of the seamstress and her skill level drives up the prices. Our main female character is a shitty seamstress with few customers so she charges cheaper (6 eyrir) per article of clothing. If she sews an average of 5 articles a day she'd earn 30 eyrir, or 3 marks, a day. She lives on the poor side. A slave's wage is seen as 2 eyrir a day or lower, since that wouldn't even buy a cheap loaf of bread. The average wage is 5-14 marks a day. To be paid well is 15-25 marks a day. To be paid excellently is 1 gloe and above.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

The air tingled with the residue of magic. Its essence was soaked in blood and reeked of carnage. Loki's face twisted with disgust as he looked down at the ogre at his feet, its body addled with arrows and burnt by magical fire. He bent down and plucked a dagger from its jugular. Thor sidled up next to him, dripping with sweat and dirt and breathing heavily. A wide grin broke across his face and Loki wiped his dagger clean of black blood without looking up.

"What is it?"

"This was a good battle. We should celebrate."

"Only a battle, Thor, not the end of the war. No," Loki said, placing the dagger into his belt alongside the others he'd been retrieving. He began walking away from Thor.

"Come on. It will be a grand time!" Thor declared, trotting alongside Loki's quick pace. Loki rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three fell upon the two the moment they were spotted. Loki halted with his brother to chat. He hung back, away from the group. Chatting after a battle never suited him. What suited him after a battle was bathing the blood and mud caked to him away. Perhaps enjoying a private drink and private affair with whoever struck his fancy that night. Yet the rest of them badgered on, cheering and whooping and talking about how shitfaced they were going to get later on. Loki bit his inner cheek and huffed.

"Well, I'll be getting on my way," he announced and turned to depart.

"No, you have to come out for a drink with us, Loke!" Fandral protested, using the annoying nickname that made his friends titter. Loki pivoted to face them, their bright red faces holding back louder laughs. He gave an annoyed groan at their behavior.

"I really don't wish to go out tonight," he asserted.

"Truly? Not for one drink?" Thor asked.

"Or to get laid?" Lady Sif supplied casually. Thor and the Warriors Three gave her some looks. "What? Am I not allowed to know that sex is a thing?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Frandral threw his hands up in surrender, Volstagg took a step back with a defeated shake of his head, and Hogun wore a small amused smile at the antics. She turned back to Loki. "Listen, victory and battle make people... _excited_. It's not a crime to want to...share the euphoria."

"Listening to you try to explain this is hilarious," Volstagg laughed.

"Well, sorry I don't go out and do this sort of thing every other night and thus am not as familiar with it as you clearly are!" Sif snapped. "Loki, do you want to go out and bed a woman or not?"

"Or a man. You don't know what he prefers," Frandral interjected.

"Listen, Frandral," Loki began, hands twined over his chest and a pitied look in his eye. "I'm flattered but-"

The group's booming laughter cut him off. Even Frandral laughed in between the poison glares he gave. Loki relished in the laughter. One of the greatest power trips was in telling an excellent joke and knowing the whole group laughed because of your doing.

"One drink," Loki consented as the laughter died down. A unanimous whoop and then Loki's shoulders were draped by his brother's thick arm dragging him from the battlefield. He smirked. One drink, and maybe he would take Sif's advice and, " _share the euphoria_ ," as she'd so eloquently put it.

* * *

The woman bounced the basket of laundry on her hip bone. Grass tickled her bare feet as she walked to her cottage. She cursed herself for buying a home at the top of a hill. It had been all she could afford at the time. Her mind's eye remembered what life had been like previously, when things were so bad and she slept on the cobblestone streets rather than a bed. Now, thin and underfed flesh had gained weight and strength; her empty coinpurse jostled with the light coin she earned; her once filthy hands were clean but also callous from work. A happy smile graced her features. In this new village things were beginning to turn around.

When she entered through the door she flipped the sign hanging from it to indicate her practice was open. She walked in, shutting the door behind her and lighting a candle with her magic. It reminded her that she needed to repair her wand.

"Later," she spoke to herself, dropping the basket of clothing on her work table.

The cottage had one bedroom, a tiny little kitchen, no indoor bathroom, and a quaint area that made for a living room. An outhouse served for her waste needs and a large wooden barrel in the corner of her living room made for a tub. In her living room there was a fireplace for cold winter nights with a loveseat, armchair, and poorly-made rug she'd sewn herself. Three small alters were set on her bookshelf. One for Sif, the courageous warrior woman her mother had taught her to worship. She remembered her mother spending long nights praying to the warrior goddess for strength to flow into her child. Another for Frigga, whom her old teacher had taught her the virtues of. The patience and kindness of the All-Mother had truly shown in her childhood instructor, but she doubted it ran in her. The harsh world had made her too cynical to be able to give kindness freely. Her last alter was for Loki, the Trickster God. She'd chosen him to worship for herself, needing a character she could relate to. Loki was more than a trickster, she knew he must be. Nobody was a simple archetype to her, there was always something lurking deeper. She liked to believe that something that lurked deep in him was the same thing that lurked deep in her. The last piece of her living room was her work table.

She sat at the table, pulling up the hard wooden stool. She plucked a torn shirt from the basket and inspected it.

"Hm. Needs a patch," she declared. She reached under the table for her box of scrap fabric. Its weight made the table creak when she dropped it down. She began fishing through it, searching for the same fabric in the same pale pink color. When she found it she plucked it from the rest and got to stitching.

She wasn't a talented seamstress by any means, but she had a few loyal customers. The rest of the village went to Berit Gautrdottir. The other, much more talented seamstress was making a killing while our girl here struggled to eat some weeks. On weeks like those, her loyal customers would bring her extra clothes to sew together that always looked purposefully ripped. She hated their pity but needed their money, so she never complained.

"Shit!" She swore, clutching her pricked finger. "Damned needles."

There was a knock on her door. Sucking her wounded finger, she rose to answer it.

"Who is it?" She asked through the wood.

"My name is Weland Ottarson. Would you open the door please?"

Her eyes grew wide, wondering if this was about that spoiled peach she'd thrown at Berit the other day. She gnawed on her lip but pulled open the door.

"Eydis Norfadottir, correct?"

She hadn't even had time to get her bearings and find the short man that stood on her steps before he spoke. His hair was burnt red, thinning, and slicked back. He had a nose that looked like the gods had punched it into his face and his protruding, squinty eyes made him look suspicious. By the well-cut glasses he wore and his well-fitted suit Eydis could tell he was an important man.

"Um, yes," she answered uncertainly.

"You may not have heard through the door. I'm _Weland Ottarson_ ," he insisted.

Eydis stared blankly at him a moment longer, eyebrows knit together in confusion. Then it struck her.

"You're the richest man in town," she said coolly, realization and then distrust drawing on her face.

"Indeed. I've come with a proposition for you, Mistress Norfadottir. May I come in?"

"No," she barked defensively, pulling her door closer around her body, leaving no room to look in. Weland sighed.

"Well, I suppose speaking out here _in the heat_ will just _have_ to do."

"Yes, it will."

"Mistress Norfadottir, I've noticed your struggling little seamstress business here. I have come to offer relief from that pressure," he said smoothly. Eydis squinted at him suspiciously. "I would like to buy up your business and your shop. Let me remodel and bring in new people to truly make the place blossom," he finished with a sweet grin.

"You would have me give you all I have, give you my home, so that you could steal my business? So that you could turn it around and make tons of silver through the hands of women you would pay a slave's wage?" Eydis questioned dangerously.

"Um, dear, slaves don't get wages," Weland laughed gently.

"That would be point of the phrase," Eydis remarked, her tone condescending as she explained, "They may as well not be paid because it's so terrible. There's no way in the name of Hela I would allow this."

"Oh, but I think you have to," Weland said with a condescending nod of his head. "Because what with the way this place is going it won't be long until you starve to death."

"I'll turn it around," Eydis declared in determination.

"Right, well, when that fails I'll be here. My offer is three poque. Act fast, or the price goes down," Weland turned around and began trekking down the slope of her hill.

Eydis slammed the door shut and rested her back against it. She thumped her head against the door. Her home hadn't even cost that much money, being so tiny and cheap. But her business was her world. This tiny cottage, this steadily growing village, and all the difficulty of her failing business was everything to her. A tear slipped down her cheek. _But he's right. At this rate I'm going to starve to death._ She shivered at the idea of returning to the brittle-boned woman she once was, doing things her father would disown her for if he were alive just so that she could buy a cheap loaf of bread to eat that night.

Eydis moved to her alters, feeling like she was floating on her numbs legs. She collapsed before her gods, face to the floor and on her knees.

"All-Mother, I have come to a difficult decision. I don't wish to abandon the life I've only just begun to build, yet if I don't take this money I may very well starve once again. Please, grant me wisdom in this decision. Better yet, All-Mother, please deliver a sign," Eydis prayed. When she was finished she stood and lit incense and placed a bread offering in Frigga's alter. She knelt down once more before Sif's alter.

"Lady Sif, I have made a new enemy. A man named Weland Ottarson wishes to destroy every progress I've made in reclaiming my life and my dignity. Please, give me the strength to fight against a rich man who tramples over women like me, to negotiate with a shit like him, and to defend others he tries to abuse. Also, if it isn't much trouble, if you could please grant me the opportunity to punch him in his repulsive face. Thank you," Eydis finished, standing once more. She lit her incense and grabbed the pair of scissors she kept near the alter. She carefully chopped an inch off of a lock of her hair, careful to pick one that wouldn't be seen, and dropped the hairs in Sif's alter. Eydis came to her final alter and bowed deeply.

"Loki, I beg, if you please, that you would put a few tricks up my sleeve," she said shortly. Eydis got up and lit Loki's incense, then poured a small dose of wine into the bowl she kept nearby and placed that in Loki's alter.

Eydis sighed, only mildly comforted by her gods. She took a hard swig of the cheap wine, flicking her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. Oh, now that _did_ comfort her. Her lips released the bottle and she fell back over her loveseat, draping herself over it unceremoniously. Another swig. And another, and another, and another.


	2. Chapter 2

**HAPPY FOURTH and thank you to everyone who clicked on this story. I'm so happy to see I have two favorites and a follower, and that I even got a review! You guys really encourage me to continue the story. Thank you so much!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

Eydis' hair was swept up in the wind. It kicked and played with the breeze, its locks billowing behind her as she sat cross-legged on the pond's bank. She could feel the crisp cold on her skin and smell the daisies that were wilting. Here the grass was smooth and cushioned her bottom where she sat. Eydis could run her fingers through the green blades and they would be as silky smooth as her mother's hair. Surrounding this oasis were the trees of a forest she'd mapped out within a week of finding it. Tall oaks and evergreen pines and conifers made a mile-long shield of her haven. Eydis' thick eyelashes beat against her eyes as they flickered open. Orange sunshine of early morning hit directly into them. The color of her eyes beamed, a deep dark brown that became finely aged golden whiskey. She threw her arm over her eyes and ducked away from the sunlight and its burn.

All pretty things burn. Beauty is pain, as Eydis' mother would tell her. Eydis stared at the tranquil waters of the pond before her, wondering how something so serene and lovely could bring pain. She supposed water would hurt a lot for someone who couldn't swim. She flicked her fingers and a pole of water rose before her. She dropped her hand and the water fell, sending ripples across the surface until they brushed they dirty sand rimming the pool.

Eydis picked up her book and thumbed to the page she left off on. _Introduction to Duplicates: Chapter 10 - Projecting Your Image_ , the fancy scroll at the top of the page read. Eydis sighed, eyes glazing over the words, not even interested in the subject matter. It was nothing like the magic she had been raised around. Like the kind in her mother's crafting, sewing protection charms into the fabric of cloth and beauty charms in jewelry. And how her father would cast spells of love and happiness into the food he cooked. She remembered he would joke that he would create wards and sigils against boys so that he'd never have to part with his little girl. She thinks he might actually have, since no gentlemen ever rang for her. And in her mother's hugs Eydis could feel the soothing spells her mom mumbled for her. Magic to her was more than just a tool or a weapon or a trade. It was a lifestyle. It was love. She'd been taught that magic breathes like lungs, it flowed like blood, in each person's spirit there was a magical aura that had its own name.

Eydis was raised by her parents, but she was also raised by the magic they had honed in her. She had known basic magical combat at ten, trade uses by fifteen, the mundane and everyday advantages by twenty, the spirit of magic they'd sown in her since she was born. But now her teachers weren't with her. She would take her instruction in her own hands. There was still so much to learn, and she would do her parents proud by mastering it all. Even if the particular subject matter didn't interest her.

* * *

Eydis walked free from the trees, her house a dot in her eyesight. She noticed a body clawing its way up her hill and rolled her eyes. _Probably Weland,_ she gagged dramatically and hissed at the thought of him. She hiked up her skirts and started running home, a sad feeling in her chest that the snide prick was going to ruin her peace after her morning meditations. _Sif give me strength,_ she prayed.

Eydis arrived at her own front door with Weland standing there, just as she'd suspected. Her upper lip curled in distaste. He ceased pounding on her door and turned to the huffing woman.

"Oh, glad to catch you. I had been knocking but it appears you weren't home," Weland said with his falsely innocent smile.

"Then how about, since I'm not home, you leave," Eydis growled when she finally caught her breath, giving him a loathing stare. She pushed past him to her door.

Weland caught her elbow to halt her. Eydis wasted no time, catching his wrist in her hand. She twisted his arm until he was kneeling to her and hissing with pain.

"I am a disciple of Lady Sif and you may want to rethink touching me without my consent, _Lord Ottarson_ ," she cooed his name. With a growl, she threw the man's arm out of her grip.

"I apologize for offending you," Weland stood slowly, clutching his wrist, staring at Eydis like she was a wild beast to tread lightly around. She supposed she was. Unfortunately, no one seemed to see that the wolf held beauty as well as danger. It nurtured its young and supported its pack, and its fur coat was a marbled prize, its yellow eyes shined like the moon. But all people like Weland could see was a savage. If that was all they allowed themselves to see then that was all they would ever receive.

"What do you want?" Eydis demanded shortly.

"To show you that I am a man of my word," Weland said, releasing his wrist and reaching behind him. He pulled a hefty bag from his belt. Weland took his time opening the bag, setting it in the perfect position so that its contents could glitter in the Sun's light. Eydis' expression softened and her eyes glowed when the bag opened fully. Dozens of marks shined in the bag, the silver coins blinding in their beauty. "And there's two more poque where this came from with your name on it, Mistress Norfadottir," Weland's voice bounced off of Eydis' ears. Her world was only the beautiful money before her. Everything else was background noise.

Weland yanked the strings on the bag and sealed it shut. Eydis snapped back to reality.

"Somebody's got a bit of greed running in them, I see," Weland grinned wickedly. Eydis scoffed.

"Is it so greedy to love what could feed you for months?" She argued. Weland shrugged.

"I cannot judge. I mean, look at me! I couldn't get as much as I have by being generous and kind," he grinned wider. Eydis' nose crinkles in disgust.

"It's men like you that I needed the generosity of when I was starving. You have everything but you give back nothing," Eydis scolded.

"Are you my mother now?" Weland demanded, patience fraying.

"If you've come here to use _that_ to convince me to give you everything I have you can forget it."

"I wanted to give you a real visualization of what I'm offering. I mean, you've probably never seen this much money in your life," Weland laughed insultingly.

"I wonder," Eydis began with a look of immense ponderance, "are you only here harassing me because Berit has already turned you down?"

Weland's expression stiffened.

"Looks like she knew she was better than you too," she leaned down to his level. "Get. Out," Eydis ordered, dangerous anger burning in her eyes despite her calm voice.

"The offer just went down," Weland glared her down, walking backwards away from her, holding eye contact. Eydis didn't bother warning him when he was at the slope of her hill. She nearly pissed her pants laughing when he fell down with a screech and tumbled down the rest of the way.

She closed her door behind her, wiping a tear from her eye as she giggled. _Thank you, Loki,_ she sent a silent praise for the beautiful mischief. Oh, she would have to go out and get the best wine she could afford for her offering to him tonight. She fell into another bout of giggles, clutching her stomach and leaning against the door. She pushed off, still chuckling, and came to her work table. Her laughter died at the sight of all the sewing she'd have to do. She sat down with a disappointed sigh. _Why is my life only ever boring or interestingly horrible?_ She didn't know who she was asking. Perhaps the All-Father? Eydis shrugged and got to stitching.

A boom like a battlefield's explosion snapped the world and Eydis screeched, flying up from her chair and conjuring magic to her palms.

Eydis' magic ebbed away as she stared out her window. Her legs were floating as they carried her to the window. She stared in awe at what she saw out the glass.

A magical beam ripped across the sky, shimmering and splendid. It was a rainbow of colors, large and magnificent, made of pure light. Eydis recognized it immediately. The thing from legends, the ancient connection to the worlds she'd been told about as a child. It was the Rainbow Bridge.

Eydis flew out her door and ran. She ran into the forest giddy like a child. She ran to the end of the rainbow.

* * *

Eydis came to her glittering pool in the center of the wood. Its peace and serenity was shattered, the strength of the Bifrost quaking the waters of the pond. The great mystical bridge cast winds that bent the trees until they touched the grass, the waters of her pond whipped in a whirlpool as the Bifrost spun, and Eydis had to press her back against a boulder just to stand steady. _By the grace of the gods,_ she breathed out as emotion swelled in her. The Brifrost was truly as beautiful as the stories told. The strong winds wiped the tear from Eydis' eye.

Screaming. The Bifrost began to scream. Eydis stared in confusion. No, wait, was that a shadow in the bridge? The shape of a man was falling through the bridge, yelling along the way up until he dropped into Eydis' pond with a splash. The Bifrost receded the instant the man landed. All of a sudden the trees stood once more and Eydis could breathe. Though the man now at the bottom of her pool probably couldn't. _Is he alive? Is he okay? Can he swim?_ Eydis wondered. She stared at the still-again pools, waiting for a body to break the surface.

There was no sign of life and Eydis was worried. She peered over the waters edge, gnawing her lip and creasing her brow.

"Oh, fuck," she cursed. She knew what she had to do. Eydis stripped off her top and skirts, leaving her undershirt and panties on. With a disgruntled look she dived in.

The sunlight shimmered through her dark hair as she swam down the depths of the pond. The water was dark, shrouding Eydis' body. But the man's pale skin glimmered from the sunlight refracting on the water. Eydis swam deeper until her ears felt like they were going to burst from the pressure. She swam until her feet graced the bottom of the pool. She pushed aside the seaweed and kicked the fish nibbling her toe. Her hand reached out and took the man's into her own, grasping him firmly.

Her lungs were burning for oxygen as she swam towards the sky. The dead weight she carried fought against her as horribly as the waters did. It seemed like the two were in collaboration to keep her prisoner to the depths. They'd have her skeleton rot here. Eydis wouldn't allow that. She swam stronger. Stronger and faster until her head broke water with a sharp gasp, flicking her wet hair back in an arc. She pulled the man's head up too so he could breathe. Eydis pulled herself and him to the shore. His body was hefted onto dry land first, then she pulled herself out of the water.

* * *

Loki's lungs were sopping wet and he'd never felt this weak in his life. Through the veil of unconsciousness he could sense how limp and feeble his muscles were. He knew as well that he'd been stripped of his powers. He could feel the coldness in his core, the empty slot where a god's power belonged. It was gone. _Everything was gone._

* * *

Eydis ran over to him the moment she was dressed. She pushed his limp body to the side like her father had shown her to and began slapping the man's back, admittedly less like her father had shown her to. The goal was to get the drowning victim to cough up the water in their lungs. She kept pounding on the man until her began coughing up water. He rolled over onto his back again, still coughing but not as bad. His hooded green eyes stared at her before closing a second later as unconsciousness beckoned him once more. Eydis stared into his face, her own marked by worry and confusion.

"Where did you come from?" she asked rhetorically. She shook her head. The answer to that question didn't matter right now. Eydis pulled the man's arms around her shoulders and stood with him draped around her. "Odin's Beard! You're tall!" she griped. She huffed, readjusting him so that she could carry him more comfortably. Now, to walk a mile and get him to her house.

* * *

 **Why do I seem to have a thing for throwing my heroines into water to retrieve the plot device that advances their story? I also seem to have a thing for people drowning? Ah, every writer has their -isms.**


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